


bunny

by lilbabyc



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bratty Reader, Daddy Kink, Dark Steve Rogers, Dark!Steve, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mentions of Substance Abuse, Sugar Baby AU, Sugar Daddy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, brat!reader, reader is very rich and a little bit of a bitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24002734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbabyc/pseuds/lilbabyc
Summary: the reader finds herself in a little bit of trouble... financially. enter steve rogers.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 26
Kudos: 117





	1. you expensive, you know that?

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys! i wanted to start something new because i couldn't get this concept out of my head and i was getting so inspired by everyone else's sugar baby works, so i decided that maybe i'd try it out myself. as you can see, i got a little carried away because this chapter is reaaaaally long.
> 
> let me know what you think! - as always, any feedback is very much welcome and appreciated! enjoy! xx

> _"_ _you expensive, you know that?_
> 
> _i'm high-maintenance a little but not in a, not in a negative way_
> 
> _i just like extremely expensive things"_
> 
> _\- faithful, drake_

* * *

“But _Daddy_ -!”

“No, absolutely not,” your father shuts you down without hesitation which immediately makes your eyes water.

“ _Please_ , I _promise_ I won’t do it again-”

“That’s what you said the last time,” he reminds you nonchalantly and you can hear the rapid clicking of a keyboard in the background of the call. He’s not even paying full attention to you, likely still working on whatever the CEO of a multi- _billion_ dollar corporation needs to work on.

“But I’m _serious_ this time!” you insist, cocking a hip and tapping your acrylics loudly on the top of your marble kitchen counter. “You _know_ what I’m like - I _swear_ I’ll do better this time-”

“Nope,” his hard tone cuts you off as you hear his office phone ring. He sighs loudly over the receiver which makes your heart fall. “Look, honey-”

You know what’s coming and you can’t even try to stop it.

“-I’ve got another call coming in. I’m not sending you another dime until you can prove to me that you have the ability to be financially independent. I didn’t pay for all of those expensive private schools so that you could sit on your ass all day and blow my money like it’s in endless supply. You have all the necessary credentials to go and _get a well-paying job_ , so _go get one_ , goddammit. And _please_ call your mother - she’s been trying to call you all day. Neither of us have any time left to entertain your little addictions nor your blatant disregard for the hard work that we’ve put in to get you where you are today.

“You’ve proven to me before that you are grossly incapable of doing even the simplest of tasks, so don’t let me down with this one,” he sighs loudly. “Sometimes, I wish you were more like my colleagues’ kids - they’re doctors and lawyers but all you are is _ungrateful_ . I’ve really gotta take this call,” he says your name sternly which makes you tap your nails even faster. “Do as you’re told for _once_ in your damn life.”

“ _Daddy_ -!” you borderline shriek once more before the phone clicks and he’s off attending to more important business. 

You don’t even realize that you’re pouting until your lips start to tremble, nor do you realize how much his words have gotten to you until you touch your cheek gently with your fingertips and they come back wet and glistening like gold in the warm light of day. 

Maybe he’s right. You’ve been living in this penthouse for the past year without having to worry about anything. You loved it when you attended the first viewing, mainly because of the huge windows, three bedrooms _and_ bathrooms (that you definitely don’t need because you live _alone_ ), the open plan, spacious kitchen and living areas, and the fact that all of your neighbors are either famous or excessively wealthy like you. You saw the acquirement of this apartment as a prime opportunity to further climb the social ladder, not that it’s really all that hard for you considering the fact that your father is one of the richest people in not only _New York_ but the _entire country_. But you’d lived in Italy for a year prior to moving back to New York and upon your return to the USA, you decided that you really wanted to re-establish a name for yourself here, of course with the help of your father. He bought the penthouse almost the moment that you said you had your eye on it, and he just kind of… _left you_ here. He’s only come to visit a handful of times since you bought it _two years_ ago. Though your mother has been over far more frequently to your _utter dismay_. 

You inhale deeply through your nose, your fake lashes fluttering dramatically against your cheekbones. Grabbing your phone - the newest iPhone that you bought after you broke your _other_ one at your friend Peter’s party - you sulk over to one of your ridiculously overpriced couches and fall dramatically - but not dramatically enough to crease the material of your latest drunk purchase, a white Gucci jumpsuit - on top of all your throw pillows, the picture of a damsel in distress. Your freshly manicured toes - painted white yesterday - curl into the softness of it as you huff, dabbing delicately at your face again to rid yourself of any traces of sadness before thinking about what the _hell_ you’re going to do next. 

Yes, you have a savings account that is far more than enough for you and your _grandchildren’s grandchildren_ to live lavish lives and while that’s all well and good, even _you_ know that you probably shouldn’t spend that... but it’d have to do until you found another way to get your money. With that, you shrug noncommittally and your face ID unlocks your phone so that you can start your newest endeavor - buying one of everything off of Alexander Wang.

Sure, you should be proactive and take initiative to finally take the steps to distance yourself from your parents, but you’ve only just had your twentieth birthday. After graduating from high school at fifteen - _yes, fifteen_ : your parents really pushed you, to say the least, and it helped that you were naturally intelligent beyond the capabilities of even the nation’s best high school teachers - you started your undergraduate at Harvard in the fall and finished at eighteen. You took what you dubbed an ‘extended summer vacation’ - hence Italy - and now you’re at an impasse. 

Okay, admittedly your various interests - you refuse to call them addictions because they’re really not that serious - that _may or may not_ include a wide array of party drugs and alcohol _probably_ don’t make you the most trustworthy person in the eyes of your parents. But you’ve done everything that they’ve told you to do for the past twenty years of your life - can they blame a girl for wanting to have a little fun? A smile spreads across your face as, while scrolling, you spy the blue dad jeans that were completely out of stock just last week and quickly add them to your cart with a sense of self-satisfaction before continuing to add almost everything else to your bag. It’s not like you’re heavily dependent on anything - substance abuse is _not_ a good look for you: it was definitely more _early 2000s_ than now - and you only do them recreationally in social situations, so your parents really have nothing to worry about. They’re overly paranoid about you somehow _tarnishing_ their image when in reality, your work in and outside of an academic setting has really bolstered their reputation more than they could have _ever_ hoped for - not to toot your own metaphorical horn, but your endless philanthropic work coupled with your eagerness to “ _make a change”_ and your work in fashion has put you on the Forbes 30 Under 30 every year since you were fifteen.

You press the checkout button and your Apple Pay seamlessly completes the purchase for you: _$9,000_. Shrugging noncommittally, you lock your phone and stare pensively at the picturesque view of New York City outside of your window; that is until Alexa alerts you that Natasha is calling you. 

_Perfect timing._

Natasha’s voice echoes over the loudspeakers in the ceiling. “Hey, bunny,” she greets you and you groan loudly at the nickname, restlessly hopping up to grab a glass of water from your kitchen.

“Hey Nat,” you reply, more of a whine than anything else, and she laughs loudly at your tone.

“What happened to you? “

“Daddy cut me off,” you huff, walking to the couches in front of the TV and settling down with your glass of water. With a press of a few buttons on the universal remote, you FaceTime your best friend instead - a flash of red hair and then a blindingly white smile. She assesses you on your couch and laughs again, a _full-bodied cackle_ that only intensifies your pout.

“It’s _not funny_ ,” you protest, although the corners of your lips are quirking up in amusement at her _ridiculous_ laughter. 

“What did I tell you?” Natasha struggles to get the words out in between chuckles. “I knew he was gonna do this-”

“Yeah, _so did I_ , but I didn’t think he’d do it this soon-!”

“I’m surprised he didn’t do it sooner,” Natasha moves around a little before propping her phone up against her knees so that you can see her sitting comfortably in her bed. She starts picking at her own black acrylics, “and you can’t deny, bunny-”

“ _Don’t_ say I deserve this,” you narrow your eyes at her, and Natasha only sends you her signature smirk. 

“I wouldn’t say you _deserve it_ , per se,” Natasha begins, “but you’ve gotta admit,” she says your name, clearly on the verge of laughter again, “I like a party as much as the next girl, but you do go a _little_ overboard-”

“I wouldn’t say _overboard_ ,” you insist, suddenly taking up a very keen interest in your cuticles. “Here’s what it is: Mother doesn’t like the fact that I don’t like her and Daddy’s just flat out disappointed in me for _no reason_ -”

“-apart from the fact that you very nearly got caught doing lines of blow off of Senator Pierce’s _son_ -”

“Shhhh,” you interrupt her, closing your eyes and pressing a finger to your lips while shaking your head, unable to fight the growing grin on your face. “That was _one time_ -”

“You mean the one time you got _caught_ -?”

“ _Yes,_ Natasha, that’s what I mean. _Anyway_ \- you never call me like this unless you need something - thought you were gonna text me instead. What’s up? Is it Bru-”

“Oh, no,” Natasha quickly cuts you off, her cheeks flushing red. “Bruce and I have been over for a while now-”

“You were just talking about him _last week_ -”

“Yeah, yeah,” she deflects, tapping her fingers on her thigh. “I was actually calling to see if you wanted to go shopping for Parker’s party that’s tonight-?”

“ _Yes,_ absolutely yes - why would you even have to _ask_ -?”

“Okay, cool,” she interrupts you, smiling toothily. “Get Jarvis to get you there by 2:30 - I wanna go to the Louis store: the summer collection just dropped-”

“Sounds _perfect_ -”

“But one more thing,” she says your name again but in a more concerned tone. You finish your glass of water and set it on the coffee table before leaning forward slightly. 

“What’s going on, Nat?”

“I’m worried about you, bunny,” both her eyes and her tone have softened drastically, making you purse your lips. “What’re you gonna do now that your dad’s not giving you any more money?”

You sigh loudly through your nose, shaking your head. “I don’t know, Nat,” you admit, snapping a hair tie against the skin of your wrist rapidly. “I’ll just have to find a job - or do more _sponsorships_ and _ads_ and get back into _modeling_ and maybe actually _try_ acting this time?”

Her green eyes pin you to your couch, even through the screen, and she scrutinizes your face for almost a full thirty seconds before scrunching up her nose and nodding hesitantly. “Alright. As long as you’re sure that you can make it work… because if not, I have an option that I think you may like…”

Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline as you motion for her to continue.

“Y’know how Wanda got really into that thing a couple of years ago?”

Your brain works overtime, trying to remember exactly what it was that Wanda was doing - all you remember is that it was fairly secretive and she didn’t tell you a lot about why she kept sneaking around.

“She was seeing that older guy,” you snap your fingers when you remember, Natasha’s slow nod confirming it, and then promptly frown because-

“What does this have to do with me?” You stare directly into Natasha’s eyes as she falters, obviously wondering if it’s too late to just backtrack altogether - _yes, it is_ \- and then she sighs.

“She wasn’t just _seeing_ him,” your best friend starts slowly, choosing her words with great care, “she was his sugar baby.”

Now, _this_ is news to you. 

“You’re fucking with me,” you scoff in disbelief. “ _Wanda_?”

Natasha keeps nodding, blowing her bubblegum between her rouge-painted lips until it pops with a sharp snap. “I’m serious, you can go ask her. But believe me, I was just as surprised as you when she first told me-”

“She didn’t tell me,” you murmur, something akin to betrayal burning your tear ducts. Natasha only barks out a laugh and clucks her tongue at you in a decidedly motherly way. 

“Of _course_ she didn’t tell you,” the redhead snorts, shaking her head. “She didn’t want you getting any ideas,” she says your name through a laugh, “you were - _what_ \- like _eighteen_ two years ago? That would’ve been _questionable at best_ -”

“But you guys didn’t know that I was gonna _do_ anything-”

“ _Come on_ , bunny,” Natasha pins you with a look that shuts you up almost immediately. “Give us some credit - we’re not _dumb_ and we _know you_ -

“Fine,” you drag out the last syllable of the word childishly. “So why mention it to me now?”

“Because you’re old enough… and in a situation where your Daddy’s not paying for any of your stuff anymore.”

You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

“Yeah, okay, but I’ve got, like, _a lot_ of opportunities that are basically just waiting on my doorstep,” you tell her, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “Why should I take this one when I could get any other _real_ , self-respecting job so easily?”

Natasha’s lips curve into that same smirk. “Because you’re a whore.”

You collapse into a fit of giggles but she’s _right_ . Really and truly, you _are_ \- what you like to call - a self-proclaimed slut. But any woman who’s free enough in her sexuality seems to be one these days, so you own the title that’s been hurled at you like an insult for so many years. You wear it with _pride_ ... for the most part, but not _too_ much pride because you still have _parents_ who still - _somehow_ \- think you’re a _total_ virgin. 

“Right,” you agree easily, tapping your nails on the arm of the couch.

“Just something for you to think about,” Natasha hums, checking the time on her watch before rubbing the sleeve of her white Balenciaga hoodie over her face “Now, leave me alone. I’ve gotta go get ready; I’ll see you in a few.”

Without any further conversation, she ends the call and leaves you laughing light-heartedly although something heavy continues to weigh on your conscience. _A sugar daddy._ You can’t lie to yourself and say that it’s something that you’ve never thought about before - because it most _definitely is_ \- and it’s been the shameless subject of some of your filthiest dreams. Are you going to lie and say that you don’t have an… affinity for older men? No, you aren’t. Are you gonna tell yourself that the idea of a man spoiling you doesn’t make heat burn in your core? Absolutely not. However, you’ve never thought of yourself as the submissive type. Your confidence - no, _cockiness_ has always been a real defining trait for you and that’s always worked in your favor when it comes to romance or even sex. You take what you want, rather than waiting for it to come to you. Although, you have a feeling that an attitude like that could get you in a lot of trouble in circumstances like these.

But what’s life without a little danger?

\---

You’ve put on a tight, cropped black t-shirt and on top, a brown Fendi mini dress with thin spaghetti straps that clings to your body like a second skin; your feet are clad in heeled Louboutin ankle boots. Grabbing your black Prada bag and almost comically giant black, square Burberry sunglasses, you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You only put on a little bit of blush, mascara, and tinted lipgloss, accessorizing with small golden hoops, an array of rings that have been gifted to you by either your father or your ex-boyfriends and a simple gold necklace that spells out ‘ _bunny_ ’ in cursive, a gift from Natasha. Satisfied, you slide your sunglasses onto your face and head to the elevator, phone in hand.

When you reach the lobby, Jarvis is waiting for you, holding the door open with a kind smile on his face. 

“Miss,” he greets you, ushering you out the door. You basically jump on him, winding your arms around his neck and he chuckles as you sway back and forth in your embrace.

“Afternoon, Jarvis,” you grin at him.

The two of you walk outside to the black Range Rover with the tinted windows - black matches your outfit today - and as you climb in the back, your security detail split up into the other SUVs in front and behind you. 

“So, what’s the plan today?” Jarvis asks you conversationally, stopping at a red light not even 15 seconds after you pull away from the front of your apartment. Damn New York traffic.

“Nat and I are going to Nordstrom’s,” you tell him despite the fact that he already knows, but he nods regardless. “And then Peter Parker’s hosting a party tonight.”

“And will you be needing a ride to that event?” 

“No thanks, J,” you shoot him a smile before looking back down at your phone. “I’ll probably get a ride with Natasha.”

Jarvis nods and the rest of the ride passes in comfortable silence, the radio playing softly and the clicking of your nails on your phone screen the only sounds in the car. 

\---

“There’s absolutely _no way_ you’re wearing that-”

“Shut _up,_ Nat!” you squeal, grabbing the dress off the rack. “It’s kinda cute!”

Your best friend rolls her eyes at you fondly, staring at the _monstrosity_ that you’re clutching in your hands. 

“Tell me you’re kidding,” she deadpans, searching your face almost desperately for any sign of sarcasm. 

You act offended: “I’m _not!_ ”

Nat just pokes you in the sides, tugs on your earlobe, and continues her hunt, which makes you burst into loud laughter and leaves the store employees looking at the two of you in what you’ve come to recognize as contained, professional amusement. 

\---

It’s about an hour before the party starts when you even start thinking about getting ready. In a Versace robe with your hair wrapped up in a towel, you’re scrolling through Instagram with a mud mask on. Nat comes into the room and shrieks at the sight of your face, making you flick your eyes up and grin as wide as the mask lets you. With her hand over her heart, she stares at you dryly while silent little chuckles shake your whole body.

“You’re in a good mood,” she remarks, eyeing you with an air of suspicion. 

“Of course I am, Nat,” you look at her in disbelief. “I’m about to get _wasted_ tonight-”

She interrupts you by calling your name out in a warning tone. Your only response is a dramatic roll of your eyes. 

“We’re going so that we can have _fun_ , not so you can go on a bender-”

“I _won’t_ !” you drop your phone and throw your hands up in exasperation. “Holy _shit_ , _Mom_ \- do you have _no_ confidence in me?!”

Loud silence hangs in the air for a minute while Nat just blinks at you.

“...remember when you left me alone in Manhattan because you went to go take LSD with Senator Coulson’s son-”

“Oh my _God_ , Nat, _okay_ , I get it - I’m a shitty friend and a drug addict, blah blah blah, whatever-”

“You’re not an _addict_ ,” she corrects you. “You just... _really like doing drugs_.”

You shrug, stretching your arms over your head, bringing them back down and then slapping your hands loudly on the bare skin of your thighs. The sound makes Nat flinch which amuses you mildly before you yawn loudly. 

“Need me to help you with anything before I start getting ready?” you offer, knowing that once you start getting ready, you’re going to be in your own little world for about an hour and a half. 

Natasha - who is significantly less high-maintenance than you - shakes her head. You nod, standing up and heading into her bathroom to wash the mud off your face.

“Did you think about what I told you earlier?” she asks, following you into the spacious room to lay on the chaise tucked against the wall behind you. You lock eyes with her in the mirror as she stretches herself out like a feline. 

“Yeah,” you say nonchalantly. “Just for a little, but I don’t know if that kinda thing is for me.”

She runs her tongue over her bottom lip, looking down at her nails. “Oh, okay. I was just wondering ‘cause Wanda said there would be some people that she knows are into that kinda thing at Parker’s tonight-”

Oh, now your interest is _peaked_. You whip around, towel still in hand from drying your face, and stare her dead in the eye.

“For real?”

“Yeah, but if you’re not really _interested_ -”

“Shut up, Natasha, you _know_ I’m interested.” Your heart beats fast in your chest and your teeth catch on your lower lip, gnawing on it gently. Your fingers come back up to your wrist and stretch the elastic so that it bounces back against your skin. “Like… a lot of them will be there?”

She nods, regarding you with cool interest. “At least that’s what Wanda said. She’s better versed in this whole thing than I am.”

You can only bob your head up and down, suddenly nervous about attending this party. Natasha can sense it, putting a comforting hand on your arm.

“Look, bunny, it’ll be fine,” she gives you a reassuring smile. “They’ll love you. And if you change your mind, you won’t even have to interact with them in the first place; you’ll just be like any other person attending this thing. But Wanda knows a lot of them - that should be reassuring enough: she knows all about these guys, so it’s not like she’s going to introduce us to any major creeps.”

“Okay.”

\---

“Okay,” you breathe out. _Okay_ , you can do this. You’ve met presidents and prime ministers, singers and actors, kings and queens, but you’ve never been _this_ nervous in your entire life. 

Granted, none of those people were asking you to exchange sex for money, so it’s not really the same thing. 

You’re wearing Dolce & Gabbana tonight - because they _asked you to_ \- and the golden silk dress that hits your mid-thigh and hugs your body so tight that it looks as if you were poured into it makes it all worth it. It shows off all of the dips and curves of your body and paired with your Alexander Vauthier clear slingback heels and a gold Vanina pearl-embellished handbag, you feel like a million dollars (even though that’s _definitely not_ what this outfit costs). Natasha is standing next to you in a black Dolce & Gabbana corset dress - _because they asked her to_ \- and black red bottoms. 

Your long red nails come up to toy with your _‘bunny’_ necklace while you scan the massive crowds for a friendly face. It’s true that between the two of you, it is very much likely that you know - or know _of_ \- everybody here. But you don’t spare them a second glance despite the fact that they’re ogling you. No, you don’t linger on the bulging muscles and impressive height nor the full lips and pretty hair like you usually do. Instead, you’re looking for-

“ _Wanda!_ ” you call out, eyes falling on her reddish-brown hair flowing down her back in loose waves. 

She’s standing by the bar, speaking to someone that you don’t know when she turns around, blue eyes quickly landing on you as she gives you that charming smile. Grabbing Nat’s hand, you run over to her and envelop her in a warm embrace. She squeals loudly, stumbling back as you realize that she’s probably already had a few drinks by now. 

“Hi, guys,” she greets the two of you, looking up and down at your outfits approvingly. “You look _hot_.”

You return the compliment and pressing a kiss to her cheek, you stroke her hair while she and Nat engage in conversation. You take the opportunity to stare at all of the different groups of people who have gathered on Peter’s rooftop. There must be at least 300 people here already - the night has barely started - and you can see not a single person who looks like an old man. You furrow your brow, squinting and pushing up on your toes to see if you can see anyone that you don’t vaguely recognize from somewhere or another. 

“Lookin’ for someone?”

The voice is unmistakable.

“ _Peter!”_

He says your name in what’s only a _mildly_ offensive mockery of your tone. You abandon Wanda and throw yourself into the arms of the boy, ruffling his already unkempt hair and also smacking a loud kiss on his cheek. He chuckles, his arm winding around your waist as he says hello to both Wanda and Nat.

Apparently you’re in a hugging mood tonight.

“I’m glad you guys could all make it,” he smiles so _sweetly_ that you kiss him again, his cheeks turning flaming red. Peter has always been like a little brother to you although he’s actually a year older. You both went to high school and college together, and it helps that your mother and his aunt are also really good friends. 

Except you don’t know how anybody could want to be friends with your demon of a mother.

“We couldn’t miss _this_ ,” Wanda gestures around her, pinching Peter on the cheek like a child which makes him frown. “Where’s MJ, Petey?”

You all “ _ooh_ ” like high schoolers and Peter’s face turns somehow even _redder_ \- your heart swells - and he takes this as his cue to leave, slipping away and mumbling something about having to greet guests like a good host. It makes you all giggle, watching the boy with fond eyes.

Wanda abruptly turns to you, downing the champagne that she picks up off of the tray of one of the passing waiters. 

“So Nat told me that you’re looking for a _sugar daddy_ -”

“Shhh!” you hiss at her, clamping your hands tightly over her mouth because _oh my god, Wanda, please speak louder._ This makes Natasha laugh into her own glass of champagne.“Oh my god, why are you _yelling_?”

“Okay,” she drags it out and rolls her eyes, leaning into your group of three and whispering exaggeratedly. “ _So I heard you’re looking for a sugar daddy_.”

“Sure, okay,” you whisper back, looking around before standing up straight because it’s just occurred to you how sketchy you all must look huddled in a circle like this. “So like… how does this work? Do we just… go up to them? Is there like some kind of _code_ -?”

Wanda snorts loudly, throwing her head back and laughing. Your face slips into a pout and you cross your arms over your chest. 

“No, idiot,” Wanda replies, pulling a tube of lipstick and a mirror out of her clutch. She starts to apply it while speaking to you. “They’re here already, and we’ve just gotta go up to them,” she smacks her lips together with finality, “and tell them we’re interested. Or, more like you’re going up to them and we’re here for moral support.”

“What happened to your guy, Wanda?” Nat asks, signaling to the bartender for a refill. 

“And how did you get into it?” you ask her, one eyebrow quirking. 

She smiles conspiratorially and runs her hands carefully through her hair. “There’s an app. And Viz and I are still together-”

“ _Viz?_ ” you almost choke on your own spit because you laugh so hard. Natasha joins you in a far more respectful way, her shoulders shaking as she picks up her now-full glass. Getting literal daggers thrown at your face would’ve been less piercing than the look that Wanda’s giving you right now, so you decide to shut your mouth and listen.

“Yes,” she says your name condescendingly, which makes you roll your eyes. “His name is Vision - it’s a long, _personal_ story that I won’t share with _either of you_ because you both fucking suck,” she stares the two of you down, “but that’s his nickname and what everyone calls him. It’s kinda cool, you know: super contemporary. Like Madonna or Beyonce or Cher-”

“Okay,” Natasha licks her lips, putting one of her hands on her hip. “We get it, Wanda, thanks. But you told us that you guys broke up-?”

“Yeah, we just took a break,” Wanda shrugs. “Now, we’re back together and better than ever.”

You and Nat share a look before blinking back at Wanda, nodding your heads compliantly. 

“So,” you rock back on your heels and start snapping your hair tie again. “Are we gonna go do this, or?”

Wanda’s eyes drift down to your wrist before she places a hand on top of it, stilling your actions. Your eyes are wide and glossy, your teeth worrying your lip. 

“What’re you nervous about?” Wanda begins quietly, rubbing circles into your skin with her thumb. “They’ll love you - they’re all super cool and _really hot_. I think that the only problem that you’ll have is that you’ll be spoilt for choice.”

Your laugh comes out watery but sincere nonetheless, so Wanda loops her arm through yours while Natasha grips your hand tightly.

“Maybe we should get you a drink-” 

“No, Nat,” you inhale deeply. “I wanna be completely sober for this. After… after, yeah. I’m definitely gonna need a drink after.”

You all laugh while Wanda weaves you through swathes of socialites, stopping to say hello to some people. When you finally make your way all the way to the other end of the roof, you can see why you didn’t see them before. There is a set of stairs that lead down to what looks like a zen garden. Tall torches flame a collection of very comfortable-looking couches are placed around a stone firepit and on top of those couches are a group of some of the most handsome men that you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The first one to make eye contact with you is astoundingly attractive, so much so that you almost trip over your own feet. You _know-_ you can just _tell_ that he smells incredible. His mahogany skin shines in the light of the fire, and his full lips curve over a gap-toothed smile that he shoots your way; it immediately makes a smile of your own spread on your face. His beard is lined up to perfection and there’s a mischievous sparkle in his whiskey brown eyes. A little bit of his chest hair pokes out from underneath the top of his almost halfway-unbuttoned dress shirt and your mouth _waters_. You almost feel sorry for the slacks that are hugging his thighs _sinfully_ tight because his powerful legs look like they’re about to _burst_ through the seams. 

You decide that you’ve never wanted to be a pair of pants so badly in your life. 

_Jesus Christ. These men aren’t even close to what I expected._

All you can say is that you’re glad to see that the same caliber of attractiveness holds up for the rest of them.

The man next to him has longer brunette hair that hits his shoulders and you just want to _run your hands through_ the silky strands. He has a bit more of a rugged look, his facial hair groomed purposely to give off that energy. He’s wearing a tight, long-sleeve black shirt and black slacks too, the monochrome outfit highlighting every inch of his well-toned body. When you look at him, he’s staring down into his glass, the sweetest smile on his face that makes you bite the inside of your cheek. But then he _looks up at you_ , and you’re taken aback by the vibrance of his steel-blue eyes. It stops your breath momentarily, and you have time to regain it when he taps the man next to him on the knee and points towards the three of you.

The man in question raises his head, face shielded partially by a pair of yellow-tinted glasses. His blonde hair is slicked back away from his face, and you take a second to admire his prominent bone structure. But he’s looking right past you, eyes boring holes into Wanda which makes you stop your ogling. 

You assume that this must be _Vision._

There’s one of the men who isn’t facing you and doesn’t even turn around to do so, but you can make out his extremely broad shoulders clad in a white t-shirt even from where you stand a distance away. Even the back of his head is attractive, his thick neck and pushed-back blonde hair. Wanda tugs on your arm impatiently, evidently eager to reach her man. 

The three of you linked together almost fall down the stairs before you regain your collective composures and strut over there with all the confidence that you _don’t_ feel. Wanda lets you and Nat go when you draw closer, fixing her hair before the brightest grin that you’ve ever seen on her face shines at Vision. He opens his arms to greet her and you have to look away because of the very much x-rated kiss that she plants on him: you feel like you’re intruding on something.

“Jesus,” Nat snorts in your ear, her hand still resting in yours. This makes you giggle, high-pitched and nervously, so Nat squeezes your hand before she pulls you forwards. 

Wanda has situated herself in the lap of her man, his hand resting gently on her hip. She clears her throat, cheeks red from her public display of affection, and begins to speak.

“Hi, guys,” she says, waving and smiling at all the men politely. They all greet her back warmly, raising their hands too. “These are my best friends. This is Nat,” she gestures to the girl next to you and Nat just nods her head in acknowledgment. 

“And this is the friend I told you about,” Wanda introduces you by name to the four men who she points at in turn: “Bunny, this is Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Vision, and Steve Rogers.”

Giving a little awkward wave of your hand, you unglue your eyes from the floor and scan all of the men up close now. 

They’re all so much prettier up close.

From this distance, you can now clearly see how pretty Sam’s eyes are, how bright Bucky’s smile is, how strong Vision’s jaw is, and-

_Holy shit_.

It’s obvious that you must’ve died and gone to heaven some time in these past few minutes because Adonis’ blue eyes are scorching holes into your face. His high-neck white long sleeve sweater is _probably_ in his size but the way that his muscles flex under the material is telling you otherwise. The size of his biceps - probably as big as your _head_ \- briefly make you wonder what they would feel like wrapped around your neck-

If you stare hard enough at his pecs - _which you are_ \- you can see the hard peaks of his nipples; you decide that there’s something so sensual about that and if that alone didn’t just make you wet, you decide that you can’t be human. The sweater is tucked into grey checkered pants with a black Yves Saint Laurent belt wrapped around his _surprisingly narrow_ waist. He’s leaning back in his seat with his _huge_ hands on his thighs, his strong legs spread wide almost an invitation for you to crawl between them. Your eyes move past his clearly tailored pants to his _huge feet_ clad in black Versace loafers and you can feel the liquid that pools in your cunt. Realizing that you’re shamelessly checking this poor man out, your eyes snap up to his face only to have the breath completely knocked out of you, not for the first time tonight. 

Not only is his body complete perfection, but his face is also arguably _even better._ His defined jawline gives you the urge to run your tongue over it. His ears are perfectly proportional to his head - a characteristic that should _never_ be underestimated, mind you - and his cheekbones are high. But you can’t ignore the fullness nor the rosy pigmentation of his lips - his lower lip is fuller than the top and you wanna _bite it_ so bad and he’s _smirking_ a little. When you finally lock eyes with him, you feel as if you’re drowning but admittedly even if you were, you wouldn’t mind doing so in the blue of his irises. They darken slightly when they train onto yours, and one of his _perfect_ eyebrows lifts questioningly. 

This whole interaction has only lasted about five seconds but it feels like you’re in a movie, everything moving in slow motion. He stands up abruptly and you _do actually choke_ at his size, his sheer height and width alone soaking your panties. One hand in his pocket, he takes slow, measured steps until he stands directly in front of you, not even sparing a glance at Natasha. 

“Bunny, huh?” you pray that your knees won’t give out at his deep baritone and you can’t take your eyes away from his, even when he sticks out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Steve Rogers.”

  
  



	2. it was for me too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the reader gets an unwelcome visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! i lost the inspiration to write for a hot minute there, but i'm back! thanks so much for the support on the first chapter - it means the world :)
> 
> any feedback is always welcome and appreciated! i'd love to hear your thoughts! <3
> 
> enjoy!!

> _ "if you really listen, then this is to you  
>  mama, there is only so much I can do  
>  tough for you to witness it but it was for me too" _
> 
> _ \- r.i.p 2 my youth, the neighbourhood _

* * *

You can do nothing but nod dumbly, eyes roaming the large figure standing in front of you. The only thing that snaps you out of your trance is Natasha’s quiet exhalation of breath through her nose, her little laugh making you  _ woman up  _ and place your hand in Steve’s larger one. 

“Likewise,” you speak lightly, your words little more than puffs of air escaping your mouth. His eyes don’t leave yours for a second and the longer you look at his face, the more that you start to believe that you know him from somewhere. But he drops your hand the moment that recognition starts to claw at your brain and the up-and-down look that he gives you snaps you out of any deep thought. 

“So,  _ bunny _ ,” a teasing voice comes from beside you, causing you to tear your eyes away from Steve’s. From the way he’s smirking at you, you assume that Sam was the one who spoke up. Turning your whole body away from Steve, you saunter up to the handsome man glowing like bronze underneath the warm light and take the drink he pours for you with a sultry smile - and you  _ know  _ that you should never take drinks from strangers but without really knowing why, you already trust this man. 

“That’s me,” you throw him a wink, sipping from the glass slowly. 

“Where’d you get a name like that?” He pats the arm of the sofa and as your smile grows, you perch yourself on it, crossing one leg over the other. Natasha follows your lead, situating herself on an armchair to your right, in between the couch that Steve sits on and the one that holds you, Bucky, and Sam. You open your mouth about to answer Sam’s question, but Natasha swiftly steps in.

“I gave it to her,” she grins, running a hand through her loose waves. You can see both Sam and Bucky’s eyes follow her movements which makes you laugh a little, the hunger displayed in both the pools of brown and blue almost overtly obvious. 

“Why?” Bucky’s voice rasps, his tongue coming out to wet his lips. Your eyes can’t help but follow the movement -  _ you’re not blind and he’s a very attractive man  _ \- but you stop short when you realize that someone is searing holes into the back of your neck. Looking to the side, you can see that Steve has sat down in his previous seat, hands resting on thick thighs and legs spread wide. 

His eyes are on you -  _ unflinchingly _ , you note, even as yours meet his; it’s obvious that he saw you stare at Bucky’s lips. You engage in a quick staring match and even though you’re not usually the type to back down easily, the way that your face heats up and his gaze makes you feel has you looking away after merely a few seconds. 

Your eyes refocus on Natasha and stay there.

“It’s because she’s like the energizer bunny,” your best friend snorts, taking the proffered glass of rosé from Sam’s hand and taking a sip. Her statement makes all the men laugh - apart from Vision because he’s too busy whispering in Wanda’s ear for him to be involved in the rest of the conversation and by Wanda’s reaction, you can tell that their conversation isn’t exactly fit for public consumption. 

Natasha continues, tracing a finger along the rim of her glass, “Once she gets on something, it’s… she’s, like,  _ stuck on it _ , you know? Can’t get enough of it - she goes  _ crazy  _ over it, gets super excited and stuff. It’s cute-”

You interrupt her with a groan, causing a chorus of laughs and  _ ooh’s _ to rise from the group. “ _ Nat _ \- I- I don’t even like that nickname anyway. I’d rather you call me literally  _ anything else _ -”

“Okay, bunny,” Bucky grins at you and you reach over Sam to swat at his  _ very hard  _ arm, all traces of your previous nervousness having dissipated with the alcohol. Your hand comes back sore but to humor you, you suppose, Bucky recoils from you and dramatically sinks down in his chair, wailing exaggeratedly. 

“Sounds good, bunny,” Sam joins in, flashing you a cheeky smile that only earns him a blow on his equally thick bicep that leaves your hand  _ stinging _ but he too rubs at his arm after drawing a sharp intake of air through his teeth.  _ They’re funny _ , so you throw your head back and laugh -  _ really laugh _ \- and find yourself slipping off the side of the couch and into Sam’s lap. You let out a little squeal as Natasha and Bucky laugh at you. 

“Whoa there, bunny,” Sam chuckles, hands immediately coming up to grip your waist tightly. “Slow your roll.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, but you’re only mock-annoyed: “Christ, Sam, take a girl out on a date first.”

The response you get from the man underneath you is mirthful -  _ “You’re the one who landed on me, darlin’”  _ \- and causes you to smile, but then you  _ feel it again _ , his eyes so intently focused on the side of your face. You choose to ignore it because if this guy has a staring problem, he can take it up with-

“-you,” Bucky flicks Sam’s ear playfully. “I get plenty of women.”

“Oh yeah, Barnes? ‘Cause your lap is lookin’  _ awfully empty _ -”

And the two go back and forth like this for what seems like an eternity. You know that you’ve lost Wanda to  _ Viz _ , the seat that they once occupied currently vacant. You kind of  _ want to be annoyed at her  _ because she promised that she’d help you with what you really came here for in the first place, but you  _ can’t _ because, for the past few weeks, you and Natasha have kind of  _ maybe  _ been avoiding her to some degree because, really and truly, she’s been such an uptight  _ bitch  _ \- and you say that in the nicest way possible - so you want her to get some dick in peace so that she can release all of that backed-up tension. 

You love her, really, but a sexually frustrated Wanda has the potential to rival your mother in terms of how completely  _ unbearable  _ they are to be around.

You turn to speak to Natasha but then Steve clears his throat loud enough for everyone to hear which causes all chatter to cease. He sighs loudly, running a hand over his clean-shaven jaw before he speaks. You can’t help but take some more time to admire the beauty of his jawline, so defined and sharp that you wonder if it could  _ cut up the skin on the insides of your thighs- _

“I mean, while I’d love to continue this,” Steve checks his Rolex, “we should probably get down to what you girls really came for.” His eyes land pointedly on you, and you realize that you’re still sat comfortably on Sam’s lap. You sit back even further, wrapping your arm around Sam’s shoulders. Steve’s fists are clenched so hard that you’re sure that his blunt nails are digging into the palms of his hands.

You decide that you’re not going to move.

“Right,” your best friend leans forward to put her empty glass on the coffee table where your own lies and clears her throat. She then says your name and gestures vaguely to where you’re sitting, “she’s looking for an arrangement similar to what Wanda and Vision have-”

“-and since Wanda isn’t here to help us explain exactly what all of that consists of,” you butt in, pressing your long thumbnail to your lower lip and pushing it into your mouth, “we were wondering if you gentlemen would be kind enough to help us out?”

Natasha’s head snaps to yours, her eyebrow raised in a way that says _this is not what we agreed on_ and you reply with _it’s fine_ , but then she responds with _why don’t we just wait for Wanda_ and you don’t even think that warrants a reply. You give her a deadpan look and she physically holds her hands up in surrender; you both know that Wanda’s not coming home with the two of you tonight. The three men around you look lost so you direct your attention back to them. 

“So?” you follow up, sucking lightly on the end of your nail. Even from where you’re sitting, you can see Steve’s darkened eyes - his pupils are blown and they only leave a thin ring of blue around them. The rise and fall of his broad chest has gotten just that little bit faster. 

_ He’s so pretty _ .

“The arrangements are different for all of us,” Bucky downs the amber liquid in his glass. “So it’d just depend on who you’re interested in gettin’ to know, doll. Got anyone in mind right off the bat?”

Oh  _ wow _ \- you didn’t expect to be put on the spot like this so early into this conversation. But you don’t mind; the pressure or awkwardness that should come with a question like this in a situation as unique as this one doesn’t come. You only smile coyly, batting your eyelashes and looking down. 

“Oh, well,” you start shyly, swinging your legs innocently. “I don’t really know about all that yet-”

“It’s alright, bunny,” the voice ignites a fire in your veins so you know who’s just spoken. “We’ll make this decision easy for you. She’s mine, boys.”

This makes you  _ choke _ yet again, causing you to clear your throat loudly. Your fingertips press down on your cheeks just to see how warm your face really is from this blatant stake of his claim on you. Normally, you’d be the first one to protest, completely indignant that this man thinks that he owns you in any capacity. But there’s none of  _ that kind of passion  _ here; rather, you’re more-  _ no, probably not _ \- no,  _ definitely  _ turned on by his words.

The two other men, much like Natasha did only a minute ago, throw their hands up in acquiescence. In fact, they both seem so  _ moved  _ by Steve’s words that they trip over each other to speak.

“Yeah, that’s all good, man.”

“Sounds good to me, pal.”

There’s a lull in the conversation while you all digest the implications of Steve’s exclamation. You twist your fingers together, scraping your nails against each other. 

“So,” you drag out the last syllable. “Is there some kind of…  _ contract  _ or something?”

* * *

You wake up in a bed that feels far too crowded to be yours. There’s a body wrapped around yours, legs tangled in yours and an arm draped over your torso. In your groggy state, it takes all the willpower that you can summon to turn your head to the left and check  _ who the fuck  _ is sleeping in next to you in-  _ your bed _ (???).

The hand of the arm that isn’t currently being pinned down by another human being comes up to rub at your eyes, clearing up your bleary vision so that you can try to successfully identify your intruder. 

You could say that you’ve never woken up in a situation like this but that would be a  _ lie  _ and your New Year’s resolution this year was that you’d try to be more  _ honest _ \- so the truth is that this is  _ definitely not  _ the first time that you’ve woken up in a situation like this and if anything, this is probably the safest you’ve felt out of all of those scenarios. 

Half of the person’s head is buried underneath the duvet so you squint a little in the obnoxiously bright morning light - you silently curse the sun for not wanting to take a fucking day off today - so that you can try to make out a defining feature of the body on top of you. Once your eyes focus, the mop of red hair spread across the white sheets makes you groan and close your eyes again. 

You honestly didn’t have a game plan if it wasn’t Natasha. 

Confused, you attempt to think back to exactly what happened last night. Since you’ve woken up with Natasha, you give yourself the benefit of the doubt and assume that nothing too compromising happened last night. After nights like Peter’s, you normally cannot immediately recognize the person next to you, so you’re going to take this as a  _ glass half full _ kind of moment and call it a plus. 

Nothing illegal took place as far as you can remember which is another first for you - apart from your excessive underage drinking but you turn twenty-one in a year so you shrug it off.

_ Wow, maybe I am growing _ .

After your conversation with those men -  _ there was no contract  _ \- you had sent Wanda a text to let her know that you and Natasha were heading home. There was nothing at this party that you hadn’t seen before, so frankly, your work there was done and you had no more business at Peter’s. Speaking of, you did manage to run into him right before you left just to say goodbye to him -  _ ever the gracious guest  _ \- and tease him some more about MJ. Naturally, he turned redder than the burgundy suit pants he was wearing and gave both you and Nat kisses on the cheek before almost  _ running away  _ from the two of you. 

That gave you a good laugh. 

You were halfway to Nat’s car when none other than Steve Rogers appeared from the shadows to put your number on his phone. He said nothing other than  _ I’ll call you _ before walking further down the valet parking to get his own car. Natasha beeped her horn at you when she saw you lingering - you were staring at his ass - so you hurried to hop in the passenger’s seat of her black sports car after she shouted for you to  _ get in the Porsche or I’m leaving your ass on the side of the road _ .

And now your phone rings; you can’t help that the weaker side of your brain wants so badly for it to be Steve. He left you with a promise - albeit a vague one - and you think that you’re going to hold him to that, although you don’t know how exactly how you’d go about that since he’s the one who has your number. 

Shit.

Natasha groans loudly at the shrill noise coming from your phone speakers, grabbing a pillow and shoving it over her face. 

She says your name exasperatedly, “I thought I told you to put that shit on  _ silent _ -”

“ _ Sorry _ , sorry,” you tell her, rolling your eyes because you don’t remember her telling you that, and then you sit up. At this moment, you realize that you actually  _ aren’t  _ in your own apartment and are in Natasha’s very  _ grey and white  _ bedroom that you always have something critical to say about. Reaching for your phone, you’re shocked that it’s not dead and is at a respectable 16%. The caller ID shows you nothing useful -  _ unknown caller  _ \- and this only gives you some more hope that it’s the handsome man you met last night. You clear your throat before pressing that green button.

“Hello?” you wince at the dryness of your throat, spying an unopened water bottle next to where your phone lay. You grab it and pop the cap hastily, taking a swig while you wait for the reply of the other person.

A very distinctly  _ feminine  _ squeal makes you sigh in disappointment before you pause, the familiar voice making you smile sleepily. 

“ _ Shit- _ fuck, get out of my way-  _ brother- _ ” the person says your name loudly and you know by the rich accent and the impatient tone that it’s-

“Shuri,” you muster up as much enthusiasm as you can for a call this early in the morning - you pull your phone back from your ear to see that it’s actually already 10:33 a.m and wince - because you are actually genuinely excited to hear from your Wakandan best friend. Natasha pulls the pillow off her face at the sound of the girl’s voice through the speaker, and a grin of her own slights up her face. 

“Hi, bitch!” Shuri yells and you close your eyes, shaking your head but smiling nonetheless. “I’m almost at your place - I’ll be there in ten.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of your chest and you rub the sleep out of your eyes. “Whose phone are you calling from? And Shuri, I’m not at home right now-”

“‘Koye’s - mine’s dead and in the back. Are you with Nat?”

“Well, yeah-”

“Are you two  _ fucking? Without me? _ ”

The redhead next to you can’t contain her laughter either, curled up in the sheets next to you gasping for breaths. 

“Sorry to break it you like this, babe,” you play along. “No, Peter had a party last night-”

“I know - I heard about it. Sounded like fun, but my Baba and I had to do some appearances in D.C yesterday before we came to this goddamn crowded city- brother, I’ll call it  _ whatever I want to call it _ \- Bast, get out of the car.”

There’s some rustling and the sound of a car door slamming before Shuri releases a deep, tired breath. 

“I didn’t know you were coming this week,” Natasha has sidled up next to you, resting her head on your shoulder so that Shuri can hear her voice after putting your phone on speaker. 

“Neither did I,” the Wakandan princess snorts, the sound of deafening car horns and faint yelling in the background almost drowning out her lilted tone. “It was kind of a last-minute decision. But enough about me - you don’t care about all this stuff. I heard you guys met with Bucky Barnes last night-”

“How do you know Bucky?” You frown, picking at your nails. 

“Long story,” she says flippantly, sighing before clearing her throat. “But that’s not the point - I know what kinda guy Bucky Barnes is. What kinda business did you two have hanging around people like that?”

“Well,  _ I  _ wanna hear the story-”

“Shut up,” Natasha doesn’t even look at you when she says the words. “We’re- actually, it’s not even me-  _ she’s  _ looking for a-”

“-sugar daddy?!” Shuri exclaims so loud that both you and Natasha flinch as you move the phone further away from you. Maybe putting her on speaker was a mistake. “What-  _ no, Okoye, not me _ ...  _ yes I’m sure _ ,” the princess’ voice becomes more hushed, “bunny...what do  _ you  _ of all people need a sugar daddy for, miss princess of New York?”

Nat chortles louder than you like so you shoot her a glare, smacking a pillow over her face before redirecting your attention back to the confused girl over the phone. “Daddy cut me off and-”

Shuri;’s laugh is completely mocking and would  _ definitely  _ be offensive if it were anyone else, but you can do nothing but sit there and pout. Natasha’s laughter becomes louder and you roll your eyes, standing up and stretching your arms over your head. You throw your phone at your best friend, causing her to almost fall off the side of the bed trying to dodge it. 

“ _ Shut up _ , both of you,” you scowl. “Shuri, let me know when you’re here - I’m going to go take a shower and reflect on my taste in friends. You guys are both the  _ worst _ -”

Already halfway inside the en-suite, you only hear a faint chorus of “ _ We love you too!” _ before the lock clicks behind you.

* * *

When you stroll out of the private elevator that leads directly to your apartment, you’re staring at something funny that Shuri’s sent you on Instagram as you walk through the front door, a blindingly white smile on your face. The chunky black and white Balenciaga sneakers on your feet pound the floor lightly and your hand comes up to tug absent-mindedly at one of the strings of Natasha’s black hoodie before running it down the leg of the matching cycling shorts. You push your sunglasses to the top of your head, the minty flavor of your gum filling your tastebuds and the loud sound of your nails clicking against your phone screen echoing against your high walls and tall ceilings. 

The sound of a throat clearing makes you blink hard, your eyelash extensions brushing your skin as you look up to determine the identity of your intruder. 

Once you see who it is, you physically are unable to prevent the loud “ _ fuck”  _ from escaping your lips. So when she stands up from  _ your couch  _ in  _ your living room _ with her arms folded over her breast implants and her full, fake lips pursed while her eyebrows shoot to her hairline, you can’t help but laugh, surprised that all the botox under her skin allows her to move her face that much.

Her grating voice squeaks your name indignantly making you roll your eyes as you drop your oversized black bag by your shoe rack. Kicking off your trainers, you breeze right past her and flop down on one of your sofas, the plush material soothing your aching bones. 

It’s been five days since Peter’s party and since then, Wanda had given both Bucky and Sam your number upon their request - you’ve been texting them all week. As much as you love your friends, they are hands-down two of the funniest people that you’ve ever met. Despite your frequent conversations with his two best friends, there’s been radio silence from Steve Rogers. You don’t want to give these men the impression that you’re desperate - even though that’s  _ exactly  _ what you are - but you’re getting impatient. You don’t  _ chase  _ anybody; not once in your entire life has anyone made you work for their attention, so this whole situation is making you antsy.

You’ve just returned from the gym with Sam and Bucky where you were shocked to turn up outside only to see the two men shirtless, a huge but not unwelcome surprise in more than one way -  _ “you have a fucking metal arm?!” _ \- and it was truly a gift from above to essentially watch them work out from your place on the treadmill. You couldn’t even run -  _ you almost fell on your goddamn face _ \- because you were so distracted by the strong, glistening men across from you. You had instead slowed to a walk, texting Natasha and Shuri, sending them videos of these gorgeous men lifting seemingly impossibly heavy amounts with such ease and agility.

You couldn’t deny that it was making you feel things. 

They then insisted that you should come and lift with them because  _ “it’s rude to stare, bunny”  _ and that was definitely less fun than just watching them. 

And now here you sit, lounging carelessly and purposefully ignoring the presence of the woman sitting across from you. She sighs loudly, drumming her freshly-manicured red claws on the armrest of the couch, her eyes glued onto your face. Clearing her throat louder this time, you can feel the heat of her gaze on your profile burn hotter. 

“Honey, are you just going to let me sit here all day?” your mother whines - _ like a child _ , you think - and flicks her hair face from her face. 

“Yup,” you pop the ‘p’ and then fall silent, chewing your gum audibly, satisfied when you see her eye twitch in your periphery. 

The two of you sit like this for a while, the deafening quiet weighing heavily on your mother’s shoulders. She’s always been a woman who’s liked to  _ talk _ , fill moments of peace with mindless chatter and you’ve hated it all your life. 

“Stop slouching,” your mother suddenly snaps, letting out yet another sigh, but one of relief as if it’s been painful for her to hold in her chest. With the silence effectively broken, you give a sigh of your own and finally meet her eyes, the same pretty color as yours shining back at you like a mirror. Then you assess the rest of her: the bleached blonde extensions, over-lined lips, and the designer coral pantsuit. You hold her gaze as you slip further down onto the couch, your posture even more relaxed than before. She narrows her own at you and a Chesire cat grin spreads on your face. 

“You didn’t come here to correct my posture, mother,” you tell her, looking back at your phone, “so to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You haven’t been returning my calls,” she arches an eyebrow, dusting an imaginary piece of lint off of her pants, “even though I told your dad to tell you when you called him a week ago-”

“You don’t think there’s a reason that I’ve been dodging your calls?” you ask rhetorically, running the pad of your thumb over an eyebrow. Your birth giver cocks her head at you curiously, as if she’s truly confused as to why you don’t seem to like her-

“I don’t know why you don’t like me,” she states airily, examining her nails contemplatively. Your eyes dart back to hers in surprise, your jaw literally dropping because you’re that floored. “I’ve been nothing but kind to you-”

“Get out,” you say quietly, immediately shutting her up. 

“What did you say to me?”

“I said  _ get out _ ,” you repeat, tossing your phone onto the couch behind you and standing up swiftly. Your mother is still sitting across from you, so you gesture with your hands so as to emphasize your point. “You should be lucky I haven’t fucking  _ blacklisted  _ you from this apartment-”

She exclaims your name, “-don’t  _ cuss  _ at me-”

You power through, “-after all you’ve done to me - so what I  _ mean _ ,  _ mother _ , is get the  _ fuck _ out of my apartment!”

Your voice carries through your home. When the echoes finally stop, the woman in front of you turns her nose up at you, clutches her taupe Birkin, and clicks those stupid stilettos all the way to your elevator. When she presses the button, she turns around to glare at you, failing to notice your defensive stance or how you’re fighting tears that you thought you’d already spent years crying out. 

“Your father will be hearing about this,” she smirks and the doors open, bathing the side of her face in bright, artificial light. You don’t even look at her as the elevator chimes and the rose gold doors slide closed. But when they do, all of the breath leaves your body in a loud sob, your shaking hands coming up to wipe at your eyes. 

The ringing of your phone interrupts you, the caller ID a number that you don’t recognize. In your current state, you answer it unthinkingly, not even registering that you’re about to be speaking to a total stranger. 

“Hello?” You sniffle over the phone, running your sleeve over your cheeks to rid them of any tear tracks. 

The person over the line greets you by saying your name in a deep tone that shoots straight to your panties, meaning that you know exactly who this is. It’s the call you’ve been waiting for the whole week and of all times, this is when he decides to pick up his damn tone and remember that you exist?

_ Motherfucker _ .

“Steve,” you breathe, gulping down large amounts of air to try and keep any residual tears at bay. “I-, uh, hi.”

His chuckle on the other end of the phone causes your cheeks to heat up because  _ it should be illegal to sound like that _ . “Hi to you too, bunny-” you interrupt him with a shaky breath that’s louder than you anticipate, “-hold on, have you been  _ crying _ ?”

_ Shit _ , you think, massaging your temples. “Yeah,” you admit, sniffing again. It’s likely that your ears are deceiving you, but you think that you hear him groan, a sinful sound from deep in his throat that makes even more moisture pool in your underwear. “It’s not a big deal though - it’s nice to hear from you.”

“Are you doin’ okay?” he asks softly, making your heart do little flips in your chest. 

“I’m fine,” you state almost automatically, hoping to brush off any concern and move on. You walk over to your fridge, scanning the contents before your eyes land on the row of clear, blue-capped bottles with a pink flower on the front. You put your phone on speaker and place it on the counter as you snatch one of the bottles of water from the shelf, cracking it open and taking a long swig from it. 

“You don’t sound fine,” Steve protests, sounding borderline amused. “Maybe you can tell me all about it when I take you out to dinner tonight.”

He tells you  _ mid-swig _ and of course, there’s no way for him to know his, but you’re so taken aback that you falter, subsequently choking on  _ all of the water _ in your mouth. The coughs that wrack your body are violent, and there’s a burn in your throat from the strength of your body’s automatic reaction. You have to shut the fridge door and turn around, bracing a hand on the island counter where your phone lies.

“Sweetheart?” he probes, probably holding back a laugh but you can’t really discern whether or not that’s true over the _ ear-splitting sound of your coughing. _

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologize, wheezing through the paralyzing attack on your body. “That sounds great - where are we going?”

You finally recover, taking another -  _ slower -  _ sip of your drink, tears stinging your eyes.

“Hey now,” Steve laughs again, and you can’t help but notice how carefree he is now compared to the night you met him. It makes you smile. “That’d be telling. Just be ready by 8 - I’ll get my driver-”

“-oh no, that’s okay - if you give the location to my driver, he can take me-”

“No,” his voice is booming, even through the phone, and it gives you pause. His authoritative tone should’ve made you cry, especially with all that’s happened in your past, but instead, a tidal wave of desire makes you shudder and threatens to pull you underneath the surface. “My driver will pick you up at 8,” he repeats and you press the power button on the phone so it shows you the time: 2:49, “and I’ll send over something appropriate for you to wear. Are we clear?”

“Yeah,” you exhale, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip.

“I asked if we were clear, sweetheart,” his voice has taken on a warning tone now and you can’t deny the heat that courses through you. 

“Yes, sir,” you give him the answer almost instinctively, frowning afterward because you feel like you’re in  _ school.  _

“Good girl, bunny baby,” he coos and it’s this that makes you almost audibly moan. 

You? A praise kink?

_ Absolutely.  _

“I’ll see you then, hmm, honey?” he prompts you to respond. Normally, you don’t let anybody that you’re romantically involved with call you  _ honey _ because it reminds you so acutely of your mother, and you suspect that she knows that which is why she keeps calling you that stupid nickname. But with Steve, you already feel like you’re in no place to be making demands. 

And for the first time in your life, that doesn’t bother you all that much.

“Yes, Steve,” your eyelashes flutter and you squeeze your thighs together, trying to ease yourself of the growing discomfort at your most sensitive area. 

“Good, good,” he speaks, sounding distracted. “I’ve got a meeting now, bunny - talk later.”

You don’t even get an opportunity to say your own goodbye before he ends the call. You save him to your contacts quickly before you forget, and then a thought hits you that makes you freeze.

How does he know your size and - more importantly - how the  _ fuck  _ does he know where you live?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think! xxx

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think! <33


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